


Together

by Newtgitsune



Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: (light?) angst, Dancing, Flash Forward, Fluff, M/M, Music, Via Dolorosa, a lil gift for Cass, because she's amazing, but you could call it that if you wanted to, flangst, flash back, not necessarily a songfic, oh wonder, probably won't make a lot of sense if you haven't read Via
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-26 04:39:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14992973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Newtgitsune/pseuds/Newtgitsune
Summary: Thomas placed his hands on his waist, his bare skin feeling warm under his fingertips. Newt slid his arms around Thomas’s shoulder, pulling him in, closing the distance between them. Their chests and noses touched, eyes forever locked. Slowly, they swayed to the rhythm of the music, the beats of their hearts syncing with the quiet melody.Song: Technicolour Beat - Oh WonderOne-shot for Please_Tommy_Please's fic Via Dolorosa





	Together

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Please_Tommy_Please](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Please_Tommy_Please/gifts).
  * Inspired by [via dolorosa](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13353021) by [Please_Tommy_Please](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Please_Tommy_Please/pseuds/Please_Tommy_Please). 



The weak morning light filtering through the cabin’s thin, tattered curtains woke Thomas from his dreamless sleep.   
The fact that his slumber had been calm, unmarred by his usual nightmares about things that had or were to happen came as a pleasant surprise. For the past six months he’d woken up in a cold sweat almost every other night, and if it wasn’t him, it was Newt, twitching, rolling around, whimpering softly.

  
This time, however, they seemed to have both been left alone by their recurring torments, and Thomas couldn’t be more happy about it. He felt  _ rested. _   
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt like he’d actually had a good night’s sleep.   
  
Thomas stretched out his left arm- the other was stuck under Newt’s body. His head was resting on Thomas’s shoulder, tufts of his hair tickling the crook of Thomas’s neck. A smile tugged at his lips as he looked down at Newt, and he moved his left hand, gently running it through the messy mop.    
  
Newt stirred under his touch, a soft groan escaping his slightly parted lips. Thomas’s movement stilled, and another sound came from his throat- a protesting  _ no, don’t stop,  _ this time.    
  
Thomas’s grin widened and he continued the repetitive movement. Newt curled into him more, his nose brushing against his neck. Thomas wondered how such a faint touch still managed to make his heart flip after months.   
He doubted it would ever not ignite the feeling, though.

 

“What time is it?” Newt mumbled groggily, and Thomas hummed.   
  
“I don’t know. But the sun’s up already.”   
  
Newt cleared his throat before answering. “That doesn’t mean anything. It’s summer, the sun rises at four thirty in the bloody morning.”   
  
“Maybe it is four thirty. I’m wide awake,” Thomas commented, looking down again. Newt was looking up at him now, sleep glazing his half-lidded eyes. 

“I’m not.”    
  
Thomas chuckled and somehow managed to tear his eyes away from Newt, letting them dance across the room they called their own. Eventually, they rested on the old stereo that was sat on the dusty desk, pressed against the left wall. A window was positioned above, the wispy curtains parted ever so slightly, a beam of pale light shining down onto the radio.    
  
He pulled his arm out from under Newt, ignoring the indignated squeak the movement elicited. He swung his legs out from under the thin covers, setting them down on the creaky wooden floor. 

 

“What are you doing?” Newt muttered, and Thomas stood up, looking over his shoulder. Newt was curled up in the blankets, his messy hair sticking out from his cocoon, eyes peeking out over the edge. Thomas somehow resisted the urge to jump back into bed and instead grinned before moving towards the radio.    
  
The person who had lived in the little cabin before the world went to shit didn’t own a lot of music - but did own a stereo, for some reason - so the choice was soon made. Thomas clicked open the top and slid in the CD, pressing  _ shuffle. _ __  
__  
A few seconds passed in silence, before soft sounds begun to fill the room, followed by a woman’s voice.    
_  
_ __ Lay down your slow

_ Come settle down, settle down _

 

“She’s right, ya know,” Newt commented, pushing himself up on his elbow. “Come settle down.”    
Thomas chuckled and shook his head, but he did move over to the bed, offering his hand to Newt. 

 

_ And I feel life for the very first time _

_ Love in my arms, and the sun in my eyes _

_ I feel safe in the 5am light _

_ You carry my fears as the heavens set fire _

 

Thomas mouthed along to the now familiar lyrics- they’d spent the first few nights listening to music instead of sleeping. The sleep would never come. They would sit on the bed, the blankets draped over their shoulders, the both of them staring blankly into space until their eyes were burning, their bodies begging them to  _ lie down, for fuck’s sake,  _ until they had no other choice but to pass out from pure exhaustion. 

  
They’d always wake up an hour or two later, their throats screamed sore.

 

_ Jump into the heat, spinning on our feet _

_ In a technicolour beat, you and me _

_ Caught up in a dream, in a technicolour beat _

 

Newt had been staring at Thomas’s hand, and he wiggled his fingers, trying to get Newt to come out of his blanket burrito and join him on their makeshift dance floor.   
  
Eventually, Newt gave in, taking his hand and letting Thomas guide him to the open space at the end of their bed. Thomas placed his hands on his waist, his bare skin feeling warm under his fingertips. Newt slid his arms around Thomas’s shoulder, pulling him in, closing the distance between them. Their chests and noses touched, eyes forever locked. Slowly, they swayed to the rhythm of the music, the beats of their hearts syncing with the quiet melody.

  
“Remember the staring contest?” Newt whispered, and Thomas could feel his warm breath hit his lips. He nodded slowly.    
“I won,” he replied, and Newt frowned.   
  
“No you didn’t.”   
  
“I did.”    
  


Newt chuckled and glanced down before connecting their lips in a soft kiss. He tasted of stale morning breath, but Thomas had more important things to worry about. It was  _ Newt _ that he tasted, and that was what mattered.   
  
“I guess we both won in the end.” Newt muttered, their lips brushing against each other, and Thomas smiled.

 

“Yeah. I guess we did.”    
_  
_ _ Give me one drop, I can feel you _

_ Make me lose control _

_ We'll be walking, on the water _

_ When we're moving in a technicolour beat _ __  
  


Their eyes had met again, and Thomas didn’t know  _ why,  _ but the colour of Newt’s eyes never ceased to amaze him. They were brown, an ordinary colour, but his were everything but ordinary. Bronze in one light, almost black in the other. Never the same. Right now, he could see tiny flecks of gold light up in the dark pools, drawing him in, drowning in the depths.   
He couldn’t say he minded drowning if it was in Newt’s eyes.   
  
“I love you,” he suddenly spoke, his voice soft. The words seemed to ignite a spark in Newt’s eyes, and he let out a breathy laugh, moving his hand from Thomas’s shoulder to his cheek. Newt leaned back in, pressing his lips to Thomas’s again, longer, gentler this time. The music filled the otherwise silent room, a perfect backtrack to their kiss.    
  
“I love you too,” Newt eventually whispered back. They’d said those same words countless times, and they managed to never mean exactly the same; when they would part ways for only a few moments, it would mean a simple  _ I care about you, can’t wait to see you again,  _ while when one of them would go on a supply run, it would mean  _ please come back to me, I couldn’t bear to live without you. _ __  
__  
This time, however, it meant only this.  __ I love you. Pure, unadulterated love. No underlying worry, no light-hearted giggles. This was quiet, deep, spoken directly from their hearts.   
  
Before the outbreak, Thomas could have only ever hoped to find someone he’d love like this. He’d wonder how one could possibly be so infatuated with someone as was often portrayed in sappy romance films. Frankly, he thought it was bullshit. Love was love, liking someone, butterflies in your stomach. But their wings would eventually fall off, and the romance would die out like an abandoned campfire. Fun while it lasted, and that was that.   
  
Then shit hit the fan, and every little spark of hope that he had left in his body was stomped out. Never would he find someone, and of course, he’d been disappointed, hurt, even; especially when he’d been left to fend for himself by the people he cared for. He was on his own, and he would be for the rest of the time he’d have to spend on this godforsaken planet.   
  
Until he found Minho. And Alby, Brenda, Chuck, Winston. Gally, even. They’d never left him alone, even when he’d been floating between life and death for weeks, always on the verge of crossing the line to the other side, only to return as a Crank. They hadn’t left him, hadn’t given up on him, and they were never going to.   
  
And then there was Newt.    
  
Newt, who’d been there since he’d first joined the group. Who cared for others too much and too little for himself. Who hid his pain, whether it be mental or physical, to protect the people he cherished.   
Thomas was sure he wouldn’t have lived to see today if Newt hadn’t been there with him.   
  


“I can see your wheels spinnin’ up there,” a voice interrupted his train of thought, and Thomas blinked to see Newt staring at him. A smile spread over his face, and he placed another quick peck on his lips before replying.   
  
“You.”   
  


Newt’s toothy grin matched Thomas’s, his thumb running along his cheek. “Am I really that interesting?” he asked in a joking manner, and Thomas huffed, almost offended.   
  
“Uh, yes you are. How dare you suggest that you’re not.” Thomas replied, an amused undertone lacing his words, and he moved both his hands up to cup Newt’s face. Newt chuckled, his left hand grasping at Thomas’s wrist. His fingertips pressed against the inside of his arm, and Thomas was sure that Newt would notice his erratic pulse beating wildly against his touch.

 

“Seriously though. You’re amazing. Don’t you ever forget that, okay?” he continued, voice softer this time, more serious. Newt fondly rolled his eyes, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. Thomas felt a weird sense of pride rush through him when he spotted a pink blush tinting Newt’s cheeks.   
  
“You only say that because I’m willing to sleep with you.” Newt joked, and Thomas sighed dramatically.   
  
“Shit, you’re onto me.” Thomas pursed his lips together in mock defeat.   
  
Newt snickered. “You’re an open book.”   
  
“So I’ve been told.”    
  


Newt grinned, moving forward and pressing their foreheads together, the tips of their noses touching. “You’re the best, Tommy.”    
  
“You only say that because I’m willing to sleep with you.” was his reply, earning a huff from Newt that could be interpreted as both annoyed or endeared.   
It was a bit of both, probably.

 

It was then that Thomas noticed that the song they had playing in the background had ended long ago, and had been replaced by another. Neither of them cared.    
  
Thomas moved his hands from Newt’s face to his wrists, pulling back and guiding Newt along to the small couch that was pressed against the end of their bed. He sat down, tugging on Newt’s arms, and he complied, falling to his knees on the cushion next to Thomas.   
Newt sat there for a moment, and he seemed to be struggling with an inner conflict.   
  
“You alright?” Thomas asked, and he couldn’t help but let a touch of concern colour his words.   
Newt looked up, and the struggle seemed to have disappeared. “What? Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Just trying to decide on how to sit.”    
  
Thomas sighed and snaked his arms around Newt’s chest, twisting him around and pulling him down. Newt’s head now rested in his lap, the rest of his body sprawled out across the couch, his feet propped up against the other armrest.    
  
“This couch is too small,” Newt complained, although he didn’t protest against Thomas moving him in this position.   
  
“You’re too tall.” Thomas corrected him. Newt glanced up at him with a raised eyebrow.

  
“It’s okay, though. I like tall people.” 

 

“Sure you do,” Newt chuckled, shifting his shoulders a bit to make himself more comfortable. Thomas moved one hand from his chest to his head, running his fingers through Newt’s hair. Newt took a deep breath, and his eyes fell shut, releasing the breath in a calm sigh.    
  
“This is nice,” he muttered, and Thomas nodded, although Newt wouldn’t be able to see it.   
  
“Yeah, it is,” he then added, unable to stop a small smile from appearing.    
  
“Stop smiling like an idiot.” Newt commented, and Thomas’s eyes widened, the smile falling.    
  
“Wha- you’re not even looking,” He gaped, and Newt chuckled to himself, not even bothering to hide the pride he took in making the remark.   
  
“No. But I know you.” 

 

Thomas huffed. “Fair enough,” he muttered, raking his hand through Newt’s hair again. 

  
The smile reappeared nonetheless.

 

Thomas let out a content sigh, letting his eyes roam over Newt’s face. His relaxed, somewhat amused expression.    
It had been a long time since he’d seen such a serene look on someone, especially on Newt.   
It looked good on him.   
  
Even though his eyes were glued to Newt’s face, he hadn’t noticed one of his eyes opening and looking back at him, until a hand reached up and stroked his cheekbone. Thomas now snapped out of his daze and saw the same lazy smile gracing Newt’s lips.   
  
Thomas wished they could stay like that forever.   
He wished they’d never have to move, that they’d never have to leave their camp. That they could be warm, calm, safe for the rest of their life. Together.   
  
Together.   
  
***   
  
When the record finishes playing, this time, it’s not followed by another song. The only sound they’re greeted with is with its absence.   
  
Thomas dabs the cold cloth on Newt’s forehead again, and he can feel the heat radiating from his skin on his own.    
  
Now and then, a rough shiver pulls through Newt’s body, leaving him gasping for air. Every pained breath he takes feels like a knife is being plunged into Thomas’s heart over and over again.    
Every whimper that follows twists the knife, raking it up, ripping him apart.    
  
Thomas rests his hand on Newt’s hair. The normally soft, fluffy mop is matted down, tangled together and damp with sweat.  

 

He glances at the bandage wrapped around Newt’s forearm. Even though he just changed it, it’s already discoloured, the wound fluid staining the fabric an unsettling off-white colour. 

 

“Tommy?” Newt’s voice trembles, and Thomas looks back at his face only to be met with red-rimmed eyes and darkened irises. 

 

“Yes, Newt?” his reply is soft, and Newt swallows- it  _ looks _ painful, and the shaky breath that is taken after only confirms the thought. He shifts on his lap, turning his head only the slighest bit. 

 

“Thank you,” he whispers, “for being here with me. You didn’t have to.”

 

“Of course I’m here,” Thomas smiles gently, wiping the sweat from Newt’s forehead with the cloth. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

 

Newt doesn’t reply. 

 

The truth is, Thomas doesn’t know if he  _ wants _ to be there. Of course, he wants to be with Newt- help him in any way possible. But seeing him like this, with his pale skin and hollow cheeks, dark bags under his eyes and a sickly sheen of sweat covering his body- he doesn’t know how much longer he can take it. 

 

And that isn’t even the most agonising part. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen next. If the only infected part is his bite wound or if it is Newt as a whole. He could be immune. The skin around the wound is inflamed, swollen, and definitely painful- reminiscent of his own old shoulder injury. Thomas got better, though. 

 

He doesn’t know if Newt will. 

 

The only thing he can do is take care of Newt for as long as he needs to. So he distracts him from the constant agony he is in. Tells him stories about them, remembering with him, together. Back when their worries had finally been stuffed away into the darkest corners of their minds, never to be seen again. 

 

He tells Newt about when they met. About their soccer game. When Newt taught him how to swim. Their first kiss. The keychain. 

About when they danced at five in the morning, proclaiming their love for one another, and how they ended up in the same position as they were in now. 

 

And it pains him. Reliving all of it. They were supposed to be happy moments, and now they’ll be forever tainted by the thought of Newt lying in his lap with a fever and an infection and the chance that he might not wake up again whenever he falls into a light, restless sleep. 

 

But it helps Newt. Distracts him, maybe lessens his pain just a little. And so Thomas stays. Fights together with Newt. Takes every chance he has to make the whole world seem just a tad brighter, even if he himself is spiraling down further into darkness by the second. 

 

All he can do is hope. Hope that he  _ is _ immune and that his wound is just infected. That it’ll get better, that  _ he’ll _ get better, and that they’ll be back dancing to some stupid song in the early hours of the morning. That this will just be another scar to trace when they lie in bed at night exploring each other’s bodies like they’d never seen each other before. 

 

Thomas is pulled back to reality when Newt erupts in a fit, fighting for breath in between wet coughs that sound like he is trying to cough up his insides. Maybe he is. Thomas has never seen someone turn.    
  
He hopes he doesn’t have to.   
  
Thomas rolls Newt onto his side, lifting him a bit to give him more space to breathe. He coughs a few more times, then heaves for air, a rattling sound filling the quiet room with every time he inhales.    
  
Newt falls back into Thomas’s lap, looking up at him with cloudy, teary eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, and the knife stabbing Thomas in the chest is back, sharper than ever, shoved even deeper into his chest.    
  
“I’m sorry,” he repeats, his voice croaky as he forced the words out of his throat. “This shouldn’t have happened, I should have payed attention, shouldn’t have gotten bit…”    
  
“No, no, no, Newt,” Thomas takes his head into his hands, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “Listen to me. This isn’t your fault, okay? It’s no one’s fault. You’ll be okay. You’re gonna get better, you hear me?”    
Thomas can feel the lump in his throat getting bigger, choking him, tears stinging his eyes, threatening to fall out. He won’t let them.   
  
He isn’t sure if Newt hears his words. He seems to have drifted off already, blurry eyes staring into space, missing Thomas’s gaze.     
He also isn’t sure if the words were meant for Newt or for himself. Because he needs the reassurance. He needs to know that Newt will be okay.   
  
Thomas knows  _ he _ won’t ever be if Newt won’t be there.    
  
“You’ll be okay,” he repeats, softer, to himself this time.

 

Every  _ I love you _ they’d ever said to each other comes rushing back to him. Every quick one, every deep and meaningful one. Every time they couldn’t bear the thought of losing each other. Now that thought is more present, more painful than it’s ever been before.    
  
Thomas doesn’t know how he’d react if Newt were to close his eyes and never open them again. And he doesn’t want to find out. It would break him, that’s for sure. He’d seen a lot of shit. Been through a lot, too. Losing Newt on top of all of that? He wouldn’t be able to handle that. It would kill him- even if he would stay alive, he’d just be surviving again.  _ Living  _ without Newt, he can’t, and he  _ won’t. _

 

He isn’t sure what that means just yet.   
  
All he is sure of is that he’ll do anything in his power to stop that from happening. And the most painful thing of this all is that he  _ can’t.  _ He can’t stop this, he can’t help Newt. Thomas is helpless, useless, and it makes him want to scream, cry, curse this awful world for inflicting such pain on them time and time again.   
  
But he doesn’t. He doesn’t do any of that. Instead, he stays with Newt. He cleans his forehead again, checks his bandage, tells him stories, even if the words don’t reach him. 

 

Thomas sighs and pulls Newt closer to him. His head lolls to the side, his nose pressing against Thomas’s stomach, his body weakly curling up against him. 

  
Even if he can’t stand the sight of Newt like this, Thomas won’t ever leave his side. Newt needs him, and he needs Newt. And whatever happens, they’ll face it together. The two of them against the world, or, right now, against themselves.   
  
But always together.   
  
Together.

**Author's Note:**

> So. This is a thing. That happened.
> 
> A little gift for Cass (Please_Tommy_Please) because she's amazing, her work is amazing, and I love her <3
> 
> This was inspired by the fic Via Dolorosa (by Cass, duh,) so if you haven't read that go read it!! It's absolutely fantastic
> 
> <3


End file.
